


The Issue of Omniscience

by M_Moonshade



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The consequences of Cecil's omniscience, like so many other epiphanies, hit Carlos when he was in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohwhatamess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwhatamess/gifts).



> While reading the latest chapter of "We Understand So Much" by OhWhatAMess, I couldn't help but think about how someone like Carlos would react to the very popular idea that Cecil can see anything. And anyone. And anywhere...

When Carlos first found out about Cecil’s third eye, he was thrilled. Near-omniscient extra-sensory perception that could be accessed at any time without negative effects on its user? It was the subject of science fiction! Of fantasy! And it was real!

And even better, there was no need to cajole Cecil into helping him with his research. He barely opened his mouth and the radio host’s expression melted (not literally, thank God) into a dreamy haze. If anything, the hardest part was pulling Cecil out of blushing monosyllables long enough to actually answer his questions.

If Carlos’ hands lingered on Cecil’s face longer than necessary during the measurements, that was acceptable. After all, it was his duty as a researcher to properly compensate willing participants, and Cecil had already refused to take any money for his help.

 

The consequences of the discovery, like so many other epiphanies, finally hit him when he was in the shower.

Cecil could, at will, look at anything. Anyone. And he had a crush on Carlos.

So who was to say that he wasn’t looking in on him right now?

Carlos gave an undignified yelp and hurried to cover himself with the shower curtain. He finished the shower in a rush and practically raced to throw on a bathrobe. He got as far as dressing-- gym class style, slipping everything as quickly and discreetly as possible under the cover of the robe-- when it occurred to him how stupid he was being. Paranoid, really. There were more than a thousand people in Night Vale, most of them far more newsworthy than himself, even by Cecil’s biased standards. And besides, Cecil had told him that the third eye required focus and concentration-- enough that he only really used it for the news, and even then, he relied more heavily on press releases and called-in tips than his omniscience.

So there was absolutely no need to worry. At all.

But despite the soothing voice of reason, the thought kept cropping up at the most inconvenient times.

Trips to the bathroom became a battleground between logic and irrational anxiety. Dressing became just as bad, until he started laying out his clothes at night and changing in the dark. He made sure to take his showers at random times throughout the day, so Cecil wouldn’t be able to pick up any pattern. And masturbation was right out.

He thought he had it handled, but more and more often he caught his team eyeing him from their stations. More often he got forced-casual questions of “everything okay, sir?” and “are you feeling all right, Carlos?” and “I’ve got this-- how about you head home early?”  His team practically threw him out of the lab one afternoon.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled at the door, now locked to his passcode. “I’m completely fine.”

“No, you’re not,” crackled the intercom over the door. “Go home and get some sleep, Carlos. You look like shit.”

“I do not.” But even so, he took a moment to glance at himself in the rearview mirror.

“Okay. So maybe I do.”

His hair was an oily mess from weeks of rushed showers and improper care. A bit of shampoo had dried in the cup of one ear. Under the labcoat, his shirt was inside-out. His skin had taken on an unhealthy, oily sheen all its own, and his mouth hurt from clenching his teeth-- something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager and believed in the sinfulness of his natural urges.

That memory was what cinched it for him. He’d done this before-- looking over his shoulder at all hours, living in fear of being discovered. It was stressful and it was exhausting and it was utterly pointless.

He’d decided a long time ago: either God didn’t exist or He did. If the former, then there was nothing for him to be afraid of. If the latter, then God had already seen enough to damn him a few times over.

He reorganized his assessment of Cecil the same way. Either Cecil watched him or he didn’t. If he wasn’t watching him, then all these precautions were a colossal waste of time and energy. If he was…

Hm.

Carlos mulled it over as he peeled off his clothes in the light for the first time in weeks and stepped into the shower.

No rush this time. No frantic scrub-down before he jumped back into the shelter of his bathrobe. He needed to take care of himself. And if Cecil saw…

Well, he might as well give him a good show.

He stepped into the stream of hot water, taking a long moment to appreciate the feel of it running over his skin. Long rivullets gathered at his shoulders and ran in wide stripes down his arms, arcing from his fingertips, and he let out a sigh. He rubbed a bar of soap between his hands, building up a rich, bubbly lather, and pressed his hands into his face, massaging every inch with the scent of bergamont. His eyes squeezed shut, he raised his face to the shower head and let the water carry away every particle of the accumulated grime.

Damn, but he’d missed this.

He massaged shampoo into his hair, taking extra care to rinse out every inch of it.

“You enjoying the view, Cecil?” he asked as the bubbles ran down his body in a white curtain. He turned off the water and reached for the conditioner. “I bet you’ve missed seeing this as much as I’ve missed doing it, huh?” A good squeeze brought a puddle of creamy white into his hand. “This remind you of anything?” He dragged the conditioner through his hair, the pads of his fingers digging into his scalp.

“Bet you’ve wanted to do this for a while, haven’t you? All that fuss you made about my perfect hair.” He hadn’t had time in a while to properly condition his hair. It needed time to properly seep in, especially now that it had so much damage to repair. And that left Carlos with slippery hands and plenty of time to kill.

He smirked into the cloudy bathroom, feeling high on defiance. “So tell me, Cecil. How much of a perv are you?” He reached down and took himself in hand-- the thought of being watched all this time had already left him half-hard. “I mean, I know you’re pretty far down the gutter if you’re watching me in here. But how long are you planning to stick around? Do I get some private time?” Two long, languid strokes brought his cock to full erection. “Or do I have an audience?”

The thought made his cock jerk excitedly. This wasn’t the same anxiety he’d had before. Whether Cecil was watching or not, he was in control now. There was something intoxicating about the thought of Cecil watching him, enraptured. Maybe reaching down to wrap a hand around his own member.

“What do you say, Cecil?” he asked, dragging his hand down his cock in slow, delicious strokes. The other smoothed up his stomach, feeling the curve of his ribs. “Are you getting off on this? Are you imagining these are your hands all over me?”

Mmmm, that was a nice thought. He sped his pace, throwing his head back as the feeling intensified.

“I bet your heart rate is through the roof right now, Cecil. I bet you’re gasping for me so hard--- damn, I can practically hear it from here.” He knew that sound was his own heavy breathing, magnified and echoed back to him by the bathroom tile, but the thought of Cecil panting in his ear made his toes curl.

“I bet you’re thinking of all the things you want to do to me right now. Right here.” His knees were getting shaky, and he had to pull his hand from his chest and lean against the wall for support. “Tell me, Cecil. What is it you want right now? Are you picturing my mouth around your cock right now? Do you want me to suck you off?” He threw his head back. “Mm, I bet you’d taste so good. Your cum on my tongue-- can you imagine it? Kissing the taste of yourself off my lips?”

Oh, thank God for the slick conditioner, or he’d be rubbing himself raw.

“Or do you want to do the honors, Cecil? You’ve got such a clever mouth. Such a perfect, beautiful mouth. I bet you could work miracles. And that big, wide smile-- I bet you could take me. All of me. I bet you’d swallow me down like a pro, and you’d still be begging me for more.”

The world had gone hazy in a way that had nothing to do with steam. His breath came in gasps. Each stroke set his nerves on fire.

“Oh Cecil-- I’d make you scream. I’d fuck you hoarse-- and then I’d listen to you on the radio and know with every word that I did that. I’m the reason you can barely speak. And you’d come right back for more, wouldn’t you? God, you’d be so good. So hot so slick so tight so-- so-- _oh Cecil!_ ” It came out a howl, echoed a hundred times off the walls as he painted long stripes of cum across the tiles.

God, he’d needed that. His legs buckled and he sank into the tub, shaking with relief. With trembling hands he turned the shower back on, letting the warm water wrap around him like a lover. Half boneless, he ran a washcloth over his body, taking special care of his now-tender cock. Slowly he climbed back to his feet to let the water wash the last of the conditioner out of his hair.

So maybe… maybe this whole omniscience thing wouldn’t be as bad as he’d made it out to be after all.


	2. Innocence/Omniscience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that last chapter, I got a ton of interest in a follow-up-- this time, from Cecil's point of view.
> 
> And yes, I really am that easy when it comes to prompts.
> 
> Big thanks to Meveret (http://meveret.tumblr.com/) for idea bouncing~

_In other news, it seems our town’s most beloved scientist has made a full recovery from the mysterious ailment that plagued him for the last month--_

Cecil unscrewed the bottle of white out and blotted out the note. No, he should very much not talk about that.

It had been bad enough to have Station Management growling at him for listening to his voicemails on the air, but Carlos had been livid-- or as livid as he could get, with exhaustion and anxiety hanging off him like a shroud. That had been the worst part of all, really: knowing he’d upset the scientist so badly when he was already in such a fragile state. If something as innocuous as a phone call had been so distressing, there was no telling how much he’d react to hearing his medical history on the radio.

But Carlos really did seem to be doing better-- even better than he had been before his mysterious illness. His hair had taken on a glossy shine, his ordinarily mouthwatering skin was nearly radiant, and he carried himself with the careless confidence of a king. When Cecil passed him on the street (was it just his imagination, or was Carlos travelling by foot more often?), Carlos would look him in the eye, almost challenging, his lips curling into a smile so completely _charged_ that it made Cecil’s pulse flutter.

Discreetly he asked Old Woman Josie if the angels had noticed anything different about the scientist… say, recent possession by an incubus, or something like that. Just as a random example.

The angels, apparently, were determined to not talk about it.

Normally that was as good a reason as any not to think about it too hard, but Cecil couldn’t help it. He was a reporter at heart, and he couldn’t suppress his natural journalistic curiosity, which had absolutely nothing to do with the way way Carlos’ smoldering gaze left him all but drooling, or the way his stomach performed improbable feats of acrobatics whenever he thought about him.

Just journalistic curiosity.

In fact, for all he knew, this sudden change in Carlos could be an after-effect of his illness-- which could be the precursor to an epidemic. Which made this whole thing a matter of official news business, rather than a gross invasion of privacy.

And that made it okay, right?

Right.

So that night he put a few blank sheets of paper into his trusty typewriter, shut his main eyes, and opened the third.

He’d never actually looked into the house Carlos rented. The lab behind Big Rico’s was a place of business-- and a reliable news source-- which made it fair game for prying eyes, but homes were personal. Private, except to the Sheriff’s Secret Police.

Still, it wasn’t hard to find. The golden glow of Carlos’ aura painted that that place with heavy strokes, the same as it had the lab and his car. His imprint had been left on other places-- his usual seat at Big Rico’s, the route he took to work every day, his most-frequented aisles at Ralph’s-- but those were mere flecks in a larger cascade of colors and smells and presences. His home, though, was lit up like a spotlight, and for the first time he dared to look past its walls.

He was surprised to find the living arrangements messy-- not slobbish, but cozy. Lived-in. There were set piles of stuff that followed the strongest trail of gold-- the route he usually took when he got home. There were the keys, the shoes and socks, the can of pepper spray, the hooks where he hung his impressive collection of lab coats. Papers and academic journals littered the coffee table by the couch; beakers and test tubes competed for space with a pile of dishes in the kitchen.

In the name of thoroughness, Cecil looked through them. None of them seemed to indicate anything wrong-- though that wasn’t saying much, considering most of them were either incomprehensible or written to be incredibly boring. A quick scan of the medicine cabinet found nothing but the usual: aspirin and antivenom and emergency exorcism kits… and condoms.

An unopened package of them.

Blushing, Cecil continued his investigation, finally homing in on the golden beacon that was Carlos himself. He was absolutely resplendent, his aura nearly blinding.

Carlos stood at the foot of his bed, back straight and his feet apart as though he were poised to give a speech.

“Alone at last.” He tilted his head like a cat leaning into an ear-scratch. “Isn’t that right, Cecil?”

Cecil’s hands slammed into the typewriter, getting it stuck in a tangle of keys.

Carlos could sense him? How?! Was it some super secret sciencey thing? It was, wasn’t it?

Masters of us all, he needed to get out of there-- and he would have, right then and there, if not for the utterly lascivious grin on Carlos’ face.

Cecil swallowed.

“So tell me.” Carlos pulled off his labcoat and threw it into the corner with a dramatic flourish. “Did you come for a show?”

“A-- a what?” Cecil’s voice rose to a squeak as Carlos started unbuttoning his shirt, slowly revealing the smooth planes of muscles that he most definitely hadn’t noticed before Carlos took ill. Apparently somebody had been visiting the gym lately.

“Do you like what you see?” Carlos brought one hand to his collar and ran it down his chest, his fingers rippling over the newly-chiseled abs.

All Cecil could get out was “Uh... uh-huh…”

Carlos grinned and rolled his shoulders, letting the shirt drop elegantly to the floor. His khakis followed soon after, and Cecil nearly had a heart attack.

“Masters of us all--Carlos? What are you doing?” He should shut his third eye and remove himself from this vision. Right now. Immediately. Any minute now.

God, those thighs were delicious. No wonder he never wore shorts-- the sight of that beautiful body could cause traffic accidents.

A pair of red boxer-briefs hugged his hips and covered just enough--

And then they didn’t.

The fabric practically melted off his legs, revealing a perfectly sculpted cock that was already rising to attention. Cecil couldn’t even speak anymore. His lungs refused to work, paralyzed by the sight of him.

“You still with me, Cecil?” Carlos purred, laying back onto the bed. His hands wove expertly over his body. “Tell me you’re not going to miss all the fun.”

“N-no,” Cecil choked. “I’m-- ah-- I’m still here.”

Carlos ran one hand through his hair with a satisfied hum. “Are you hard for me, Cecil? Or do I need to give you some more incentive?”

Cecil swallowed, entirely too aware of the tightness in his slacks. “No, I’m plenty-- ah--”

He was touching himself now, trailing his fingers up the length of his shaft and then back down. “Is this where you want to be, Cecil? Is this what you want to be doing?”

Elsewhere (right in front of him) came the slide of a window opening from the outside. There was a light jingle as his car keys landed on the writing desk, accompanied by a pointed cough.

Cecil flushed crimson, but he snatched up the keys.

“Thanks, Terry.” He didn’t stick around to hear the bush outside his window to rustle in reply.

Even with two eyes on the road, he wasn’t safe to drive-- but he had stopsign immunity and it was late enough that the streets were mostly clear. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel as Carlos brought a hand behind him, slowly easing himself open as he described every filthy, unholy thing he wanted Cecil to do to him.

The car had barely stopped when he threw it into park and rolled out the door, stumbling up the porch steps.

There was so much wrong with this. He was a professional, abusing his journalistic privilege. He was being a creepy stalker. He was--

He was ringing the doorbell like it had personally offended him, his breath coming so sharp and heavy that he had to lean against the doorframe for support.

Through his third eye he could see Carlos frown, his gorgeous face scrunched in internal debate. Frantic, Cecil rang the doorbell again.

With a sigh, Carlos bent over-- oh, that glorious ass!-- and pulled on a pair of sweats and his discarded labcoat, a look of apprehension on his face.

Cecil shut his third eye just as Carlos’ hand landed on the doorknob.

The door opened just a crack-- just enough that Cecil could see a sliver of Carlos’ face, a few locks of disheveled hair hanging over his eyes, his torso carefully turned to hide his leftover erection.

He blinked in surprise. “Cecil?”

The radio host’s mouth opened and shut.

_I didn’t mean to spy--_

_I was collecting stories for the news and I just happened--_

_You were talking to me--_

_You were sick so long and I was worried about you and I just--_

But words wouldn’t come to him. Instead he tipped forward, drawn in by Carlos’ irrefusable gravity.

The door fell open as he descended on the scientist, his hands tangled in the lapels of that loose, thin labcoat, and he caught those tender lips in a kiss. He dragged out that kiss as long as he dared, soft but unyielding, and emblazoned the moment in his memory forever. He only pulled away when his lungs burned from lack of air.

“I’m sorry--” he gasped. “I had to-- I couldn’t stay away--” He dared a quick glance at Carlos’ face.

The rich mahogany of his eyes was barely visible around lust-blown pupils.

“Cecil,” he said, his voice rough. “What took you so long?”

The blood drained from Cecil’s face, and his slacks reminded him just how tight they could get. “Journalistic professionalism?”

Carlos grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall so hard the window rattled.

“Fuck professionalism,” he snarled, kicking the door shut and flattening himself against Cecil’s chest. His breath was ragged in Cecil’s ear, his voice was low, barely a rasp. “And fuck me.”

He dragged his teeth down Cecil’s throat, drawing out raw whimpers from the radio host.

“That’s right,” Carlos whispered, returning to Cecil’s ear. “I want to hear you.” He pulled apart Cecil’s shirt one button at a time. “Want to hear every sound you make. I’ve been imagining it so long.”

He trailed kisses down Cecil’s neck, biting down on his shoulder as he stripped away the shirt.

Cecil groaned, his hands sliding underneath the lab coat to trace the lines of Carlos’ body-- ribs and shoulder blades and long, sinewy muscle and suddenly he wanted to hear Carlos listing the scientific name of every inch of his anatomy in that rough, oaky voice. Carlos scratched parallel lines down Cecil’s sides as he sank to his knees. He caught the waistband of Cecil’s slacks and dragged them down with him.

“C-Carlos,” Cecil gasped. “What are you--” A stupid question, but Cecil was beyond reason. The air dissolved in his lungs as Carlos ran his hands up one thigh and down the other.

“I ever tell you how much I love hearing you say my name?”

Cecil didn’t have a chance to answer before his trunks were peeled off his thighs and Carlos--

“Oh God-- Carlos--”

The scientist caressed his head with the flat of his tongue, licking him like an ice cream cone.

“I was right,” Carlos purred, and he traced a long stripe down Cecil’s shaft. “You’re delicious.” A bead of precum swelled on the tip, and Carlos licked it away, lapping at the slit for more.

Cecil’s hands shook and he braced them on Carlos’ head, tangling in his hair. The resulting moan resonated around his cock as Carlos swallowed him down.

“Oh Carlos-- oh yes-- just like that.” Every word seemed to ratchet Carlos’ lust higher. He sucked desperately, his cheeks hollowing, his nails leaving red stripes across Cecil’s ass and thighs. “Oh yes-- oh-- sweet, dear, beautiful, perfect-- oh--”

As abruptly as he’d started, Carlos wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the base, warding off the climax before it could start.

“Not just yet,” he rasped as he rose smoothly to his feet. His lips were flushed and swollen, his hair tangled and messy, his eyes somehow even darker than they had been a few minutes before. He looked positively obscene. And then he smiled-- a fiendish grin that should have been illegal-- and Cecil’s last ounce of control evaporated.

He pounced, pushing Carlos back with the force of the kiss until the scientist fell back. He lay sprawled across the couch, his hips high on the armrest.

“Perfect.” Cecil bent low, kissing a line down Carlos, chest, his stomach. “Perfect, perfect Carlos.” It took some effort to pull the sweats away gently, rather than simply ripping them down Carlos’ thighs. But that beautiful cock was standing at attention, and it would be downright criminal to harm such a work of art.

“Beautiful.” His lips brushed the velvety skin as he spoke. “Incredible. Magnificent.”

Carlos arched into the cushions, stretched out and needy. “Cecil! Cecil, please--”

“Anything for you.” He punctuated it with a nip at Carlos’ thigh. The resulting gasp was euphoric.

“I need you-- fuck me. Fuck me, please-- Cecil!”

When he begged so sweet, how could anyone refuse?

He rose up, a smooth, sinuous motion before he lined himself up and drove in deep. Even with Carlos’ preparations, even with his spit for lubrication, he was devastatingly tight. Cecil shook at the divine pressure, and beneath him Carlos stiffened, his whole face contorted at the sudden shock of pleasure-pain.

Cecil hesitated. “Carlos?” His voice came in gasps. “Are you--”

“Again,” Carlos moaned. “Do it again. Don’t stop.”

Cecil pulled back, nearly slipping out before he rammed in again. Again. With every impact Carlos spasmed, moaned, his voice growing louder and wilder.

“Oh Cecil-- Cecil, you’re so-- _mn_!-- I’m so full-- _gh_ \-- don’t stop, don’t you dare-- _ah!_ \-- oh, harder. Harder!-- just like that, keep going, _keep_ \--”

And then Cecil found his prostate, and he _screamed_. The sound, the sudden tightness, the look of Carlos completely undone broke Cecil apart, and he came with a wrenching cry. A few hard strokes and Carlos followed after, painting Cecil’s stomach with sprays of white. Slowly Cecil disentangled himself and fell to his knees beside the couch. His bowed head came to rest against Carlos’ ribs, and Carlos reached up to card his hand through the sweat-drenched hair. For a long while they sat there, unspeaking, as their breathing slowed from frantic gasps into soft, steady draws of air.

Carlos was the first to break the silence.

“That needs to be a regular thing.” He chuckled, but his voice was hoarse-- from the blow job or the shouting, Cecil didn’t know. Both options brought a blush to his face.

“I… I would like that,” he said slowly. A pleasant shudder ran down his spine as Carlos’ fingers traced patterns on his neck.

“Stay the night?” he asked.

Cecil dragged himself the few inches to Carlos’ lips and kissed him-- soft and tender, unassuming. He didn’t have the energy for much else.

Maybe in the morning there’d be time for explanations. Maybe by then he’d be able to put his questions into words.

Until then, he was spent and exhausted, with Carlos warm and sweet beside him.

And he was content.


End file.
